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Tweak says, "DANCING PURGE"

Dr. John Watson (beltandbraces) wrote in hobbs_end,
@ 2015-06-03 13:49:00

Entry tags:

ouat: killian jones, rating: pg, ritchieverse: dr john watson

WHO: Watson & Hook.
WHERE: Scarlet Crown Hotel's pub, around 9pm~
WHAT: Potential drunken conversation, and more.
RATING PG.
STATUS: Completed.

What better time was there to linger at a pub, if it didn’t involve being trapped in a town? And an unknown town, at that? It had been roughly one week since Watson arrived in Hobb’s End, though arrived perhaps wasn’t the best word. For instance, he had never heard of this town before, and he had no recollection as to how he arrived. At most, all he could say was that one day he was home in London, and all of a sudden he was in Hobb’s End. There was no telling where this town is, be it in the same country or somewhere else entirely. The architecture could, and should have been a clue, but judging by the varying styles… Hobb’s End could be anywhere.

For the first few days, Watson had done as much as he could in finding other people, of which there were only a few. Hobb’s End wasn’t a very lively place. Time would tell if that was a positive sign, one that Watson didn’t concern himself with. There were more important matters, such as how difficult it was to leave the town. There were still a few exits left to test, as it were, but Watson had had enough of literal dead-ends, hence why he was now at the Scarlet Crown Hotel’s pub. It seemed like the best choice, because it didn't require him to leave the hotel itself. As far as he knew, his new-found flat-mate was upstairs, or was out somewhere in town. Watson hadn't seen the pirate captain since mid-morning. It might not have been the best decision, sharing a room with Jones, but all things considered.. Watson had never liked living on his own.

He probably should have waited for Jones to show up at the pub, but there wasn’t a genuine need to. It wasn’t as though there was nearly nothing left behind the counter, and that there were no staff, no matter what time it was. Watson had decided to start a check-list. Something to keep a record of what was available, how much, and a rough estimate of when the liiquor supply would run out. In his opinion, that wouldn’t happen for quite some time, if he and Jones were truly on their own.

Presently, Watson had moved from the counter to a table, that was next to a billiards table. He didn’t stay seated for long at the table, eventually moving to stand by the far end of the billiards table. Leaning against the table’s edge, a half-full glass of whiskey in his left hand, and with his opposite hand he was idly rolling a couple billiard balls across the table. His drink barely had any water in it; diluting the whiskey tonight wasn’t an option. If- and when Jones finally showed up, Watson might change his mind, might not. It partly depended on if the other man was interested in talking. For the time being, Watson just took the opportunity to enjoy the whiskey’s buzzing sensation.

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arcane
2015-06-08 11:07 pm UTC (link)

"Aye, of course." Killian took the cue ball with a grand gesture and set it down on the billiards table. "The way we played it in Storybrooke was that one person was stripes, another was solids. You had to sink your own kind, but only in the right order, or face the penalties." He assumed it was similar in jolly Watson's realm too - either way, really, who the fuck cared. The point was they got to knock around some balls, and hit things - preferably without scraping the stick against the green felt, that would just be unprofessional.

The triangular holder was removed, all the multicolored shinies in their spot. Clack went the cue against the formation, and he sunk a couple - the nine went right by the pocket, and was one he sunk first ergo, he'd be stripes.

"Not bad! I do hope you're impressed." And give it some time, he was sure Watson would figure out the mind of a pirate Captain eventually.

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beltandbraces
2015-06-09 05:44 am UTC (link)

His experience with the game- or lack of, actually, did not necessarily mean he was entirely clueless. In his haste for a good game, Watson had assumed they were playing English Billiards. The game rules didn’t really matter in the end, because this was for a lark, if nothing else. If there would have been a prize at the end, well, then that would certainly make a difference.

“If I were to pot the wrong ball... how many strikes will it take for me to lose the game?” He had to ask, given that he wasn’t in any rush to lose the game. Losing was never an option for him, although his record of wins was almost equal to his losses. A detail that he wouldn’t be sharing with Jones any time soon, and for a number of reasons.

He watched Jones’ first move with feigned indifference, and soon as it was his turn, Watson chose to take his time. “Impressed? I’m afraid you’ll have to try harder than that, Jones.” Now seemed appropriate for another drink of whiskey, despite its strength. Once the glass was back to perching on the table’s edge, Watson considered the possibilities for his turn, and finally chose one.

No striped balls were potted, unfortunately, but at the very least the move had rearranged a few of the balls into a complicated layout. Watson didn't say anything as he picked up his glass, though he did cast a knowing look in Jones' direction before his next shot of whiskey.

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arcane
2015-06-12 11:39 pm UTC (link)

Potting the wrong ball, well! That was the most inhumane offense. "It would just be a foul, and thus my turn again. I'd get to put the cue ball anywhere I want, you see," the pirate's tongue was now poked between the seam of white, sand-polished teeth as he made his rounds about the table, to pick the best angle where to shoot. It was all about the angles. "If neither us pot any balls after twenty shots, then it's a draw. But to be frank, I don't think either of us are that fucking terrible."

So he said now, when he took his turn - and thus didn't sink any balls either. They scattered again, clacking against each other, maybe coming close. But the one he wanted to sink, didn't. Well, bollocks.

"Now, the important question is, what are the prizes for winning?" he asked, using the chalk cube to wiggle around on the end of his stick, in prep for whenever the next turn would be. "I accept most anything shiny or sharp, for your information."

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beltandbraces
2015-06-13 08:55 am UTC (link)

"Well, I can't have you earning extra turns, though I wouldn't say these rules are unfair." Even if Watson did think differently, he probably wouldn't say as much. For all he knew, Jones had invented these rules, though the chances of that being true were low. If Watson was in a particular mood, he would have accused the other man of cheating-- and possibly more. Whether or not they were playing the game correctly, it had no effect on their liquor. As far as Watson was concerned, he had every right to get plastered this evening, although he wasn't planning to literally go that far... yet. You simply couldn't enjoy a billiards game without a strong drink, even if it affected your coordination, in addition to the rest of you. Point is, Watson is still standing, so there is no reason to put away the whiskey.

"Twenty shots.. Losing this game would require a great deal of effort, I'd say. It could be more work for you." He paused and glanced to Jones, curious to see how his opponent might react, but that changed once Jones asked about the prizes. They had already agreed on there being none, hadn't they? It was then he remembered that theynhad sorted out the matter of recording ooints. Without keeping score, who could say who won? Nevertheless, it was something to consider. He gazed down at the green table, tapping a forefinger against his whiskey glass. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally came back to reality with an answer for Jones.

"I have nothing for you, I'm sorry to say. Well, that isn't entirely true, for I do own a tool that matches your requirements, and perfectly, might I add. But you can't have it. Is there anything else you'd might want, instead?" Watson sounded a bit too cheerful about denying Jones this particular prize, and it was anyone's guess as to why.

The tool in question was his canesword, which he'd left at his table a few feet away. It was more than just a sword hidden inside a gentleman's dresscane, and he wasn't going to give it away for any reason.

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arcane
2015-06-13 02:36 pm UTC (link)

Putting away the whiskey, ha! Drunken billiards was the only way to play, in the Captain's opinion, as he swaggered and took another drink, a long pull. Who, now that he hadn't sunk any balls, waited to see what Watson's next turn would yield - and so they could go like that, until the balls sunk into their pockets or until the eight ball got knocked in before anything else or the white ball, yes, if there was one thing Hook had learned about modern-day billiards it was that you couldn't sink the cue ball. Lest you want to immediately lose, which, he really did not.

He assessed the remaining balls with a glittering, jagged-azure stare - as if mentally calculating the angles he'd need to sink the balls he wanted.

Though of course he was sufficiently distracted by the mention of tools, shiny ones. "I can't have it? Well, that just makes me want it more," he winked. But somewhere within the confines of his swampy heart, some goodness lay within him - he wouldn't steal something so precious to his roommate and his only friend here. "I'm sure if it comes down to it we can work something out, mate. Maybe you'll just look the other way when I bring women back to the room. But now you think about it too, what is it that you would want?"

His hook was about the only thing he wouldn't give up. It was his other hand, for all intents and purposes.

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beltandbraces
2015-06-15 05:27 am UTC (link)

It was possible for Watson to win the game, just the same as it was for Captain Hook. Granted, who would be the first to get plastered? Whose tolerance level was weaker? Watson wasn’t a light-weight, but then again, he’s never really believed in pacing himself. What purpose was there when you took your time with liquor? By no means is he an alcoholic: his attention at the moment was divided between whiskey, and the game.

It would seem that Watson is unable to put down his glass, but who can play billiards with a glass in hand? He needed to set aside his drink: which he did. But the glass didn’t stay for long on the table; it was abandoned for as long as it took Watson to have his next turn, at which point the glass was back in his hand and it was close to empty. A shame, that.

This time he managed to pot the right ball, but seeing as he was determined to win, he would have to pot more than one ball per turn. Combine that failure with his unwavering dedication to getting drunk, and he’d surely lose.

“You heard right, you can’t have it. “ Watson was glad to repeat himself, but as for Jones’ comment of wanting it more? There was no need to answer, was there? He gave Jones a warning look, brief though it was, and turned back to his whiskey. “I’d like to see you try.” Jones could take it as a genuine invitation, or as a harmless joke.

That said, Watson hadn’t expected the other man to talk of women, and he ended up snorting into his glass. “Whatever gave you the idea that I’ll want to stay in the room? If you ever find yourself a companion or three, I’ll take my leave, if you don’t mind. “ It was all he had to say about it, and so he lifted his glass again, but before he could drain it, Jones asked him something rather interesting.

“What I want? It’s obvious, isn’t it? I should like to go back home to London.”

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arcane
2015-06-15 12:26 pm UTC (link)

They might both lose, at this rate, given their dedication for alcoholism - but the blow wouldn't be as harsh, softened by the oaken taste of that glorious whiskey. He watched, leaning on his cue stick, and his gaze remained on the remaining balls that hadn't been pocketed - it'd be his turn again in a moment, there was no way that Watson could sink that one, no, and so he was back to contemplating angles. So many angles. In billiards, yes, all about them (and in fucking too, really, when you thought about it).

"Well, I more meant what you wanted in the moment," he clarified. "As much as I would love to send you back home, I'm afraid it's out of my skillset. However..." Sip, swish, swallow, from the whiskey - may as well just drink from the bottle itself by this point, "We can always team up and look for a way out. Combine smarts and all that. I've got things to do in Storybrooke as well, if you can imagine."

He actually missed the people there. Swan especially. But he wasn't sure if he'd ever see her again, and he couldn't let himself wallow about it - he had to think about himself, about getting out of here, first and foremost.

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beltandbraces
2015-06-17 04:25 am UTC (link)

It wouldn’t come as a surprise, if one or both of them lost the game. Watson’s interest in it had lessened, but not to the point where he would announce Jones as the rightful winner, and head back upstairs. Or head back to the pub counter, because that was a lot more interesting than an empty bedroom.

As such, he barely paid attention to Jones when it was his turn at the table. Watson’s glass was all but empty at this point. Now was the best time to fix that problem, wasn’t it? An empty glass had no place here.

“Somehow, I knew you would say that.” He glanced at Jones, flashed him a brief smile, then he was back to studying his empty glass as though it would refill itself the longer he looked at it. “I could ask you to be more clearer, but then, we’d be here all night. To answer your question, what I really want here are answers. A pack of cards wouldn’t be too bad, either. Shouldn't be too much to know how Holmes is doing.”

The idea that he and Jones could find an exit, one that worked: it sounded too good to be true. On that note, where’s the harm in trying?

Still holding onto his glass, Watson set his cue stick on the billiards table and skirted round the table to where Jones stood. “If I agree to join your one-man team, and we— let’s say we do find a way out. How early will you want to start? Tomorrow? Don’t forget, we’re in the middle of a game, though I can’t promise we’ll finish it. There is, as you no doubt know… more whiskey to be had.” Watson raised his glass and, because he felt emphasis was needed, he motioned towards the pub with a slight tilt of his head.

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arcane
2015-06-17 12:01 pm UTC (link)

No harm ever came from trying - well, most of the time. But Killian was far too stubborn not to, especially when he was trapped. Sure, it may seem like a gilded cage at first, what with the supply of alcohol and entertainment (like billiards, and clack - when he took his next turn, there sunk a couple of balls, how the fuck he could still see straight was a question for the ages). But in all actuality, this place was dangerous. Just the air itself, breathing it in, seemed heavy and suffocating and toxic - something was quite amiss.

The sooner that they left, the better. In his opinion.

Cue stick also set down in surrender the same time as Watson, and the grin on Hook's face could have rivaled the full moon. "Ah, you are correct," he noted about the stash of alcohol. "If we are going to be stuck here for the moment, may as well get properly sloshed - before we team up, that is, since I'm sure we'll want to be sharp for that. But aye, tomorrow, mate." He pushed off where he'd been leaning against the pool table, hip resting there. "I believe that sounds more than agreeable."

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beltandbraces
2015-06-18 03:56 am UTC (link)

Engaging in a little bit of trial-and-error was something Watson was familiar with, even if he was more or less led into certain situations.. and by a certain detective who will remain nameless. Jones’ idea of exploring, and investigating likely exits in town probably wouldn’t end well.

Both men had already tried leaving the town, and all attempts had ended in failure. Admitting defeat this easily wasn’t in Watson’s nature, however, and so he was interested in giving it another try.

Watson’s lack of interest in the game was telling; and in turn the outcome was obvious. He wasn’t going to finish this game. When it became his turn, he didn’t even acknowledge it; how could he, when his glass was still empty? Chances are that if he still had the cue stick in hand, he’d probably miss the next shot, or worse, pot the wrong ball and lose points: as though anyone was still keeping score. Keeping track of the whiskey seemed more important to him right now.

“Do you think it wise, though? Here we are, in a hotel, in a strange town, drinking liquor that may not be all it seems.” If there was something wrong with the drinks, such a fact had yet to become known to the two men: if it will happen at all. Watson was going against his better judgement here, simply because… there had to be a reason for it, surely. He lowered his glass and glanced at the billiards time, seemed to be judging the pros and cons of continuing the game.

“…so it’s agreed, then. If either of us can remember it, we’ll continue our game later. Tomorrow, the day after.. I won’t speak for you, but if I drink any more, I won’t be able to see what I’m aiming for.” Watson didn’t wait for Jones’ answer, and made a beeline for the pub counter. It didn’t take him long to find the whiskey bottle, but he didn’t return to the billiards table. Instead, he claimed a seat at the counter and filled his glass to the brim, and the bottle was set on the countertop: within reach, mind you. If Jones wanted it, he’d most likely have to say the magic word.

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arcane
2015-06-19 12:15 am UTC (link)

Oh, now that was an excellent point, wasn't it? Who the bloody hell knew what was in this whiskey? Or where it had been distilled, what it was made from - then again, Hook was what one might call a functioning alcoholic. He knew his booze. And nothing tasted particularly amiss about their poison of choice, but then again, if a mysterious foggy town could plop them in here with no explanation whatsoever, then he wouldn't put it past the place to drug them either.

Hm. Tasted alright, though.

"You've got a good head on your shoulders," Killian praised, ~~stumbling~~ making his way to the bar right after Watson - first he rolled the eight ball into its pocket all on his own, without hitting it with the stick. Just to put an official end to the game, ha, there we go! See, it was done now. "Well, we'll finish this bottle and then see what happens to us - if we're turned into newts or what have you."

Selecting the seat next to Watson, he reached for the bottle and...drank right from it. Refreshingly. "Cheers!" The start of a beautiful partnership indeed.

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beltandbraces
2015-06-19 03:54 am UTC (link)

Watson had more experience in pubs— and gambling dens, than he could ever hope to confess to anyone, with one or two exceptions. The whiskey didn’t taste unusual, or else he wouldn’t have drained his glass. He likely would have done something else about it, which could mean any number of acts.

“It’s taken you this long to realise that, has it?” He meant that as both a compliment, and a little something else that was considerably different. Regardless, his mind was set on reaching his tolerance level, and slipping past it. Jones’ decision to end the game on his own was entirely missed by Watson, and should it be mentioned, the physician would probably be too soaked to mind. If they had been playing to win something valuable, then that would be a different story, outcome and all.

A bit preoccupied with his own glass, Watson all but failed to notice that Jones essentially stole the whiskey bottle. There were more bottles to take, that much he was certain of, so Watson merely shrugged in response and then lifted his full glass to Jones. “Cheers, Captain. May our plan end well, but if you expect me to wake you early, that might be our first problem.”

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